A Little Thing called Time

There’s a tender sort of sacredness
As earth yields to the Sublime
Rousing in us a keen awareness
Of a little thing called Time
And a deeper sense of future
Stirs the heart to contemplate
Midst the slumbering of nature
What is truly good or great

There’s beauty in the somnolence
And barrenness of earth
As heaven wraps a silver scarf
Across its drowsy girth
And wisdom crowns with splendor now
Its head with hoary frost
The hardened heart is tender now
Relinquishing its boast

There’s a pleading sort of hunger
In the silent aftermath
Hints of toiling, heat and summer
Scattered on earth’s tangled path
As we bow in trite humility
Our footsteps tread the line
Where countless feet have walked before
On a little thing called Time

Janet Martin

I don't know why, but some mornings I wake with a keen awareness of Time
pressing against me. A few hours later, as I drove to a neighboring farm a few miles away for some eggs, its passage seemed to leap from the landscape...